


Lost Time

by sithwitch13



Category: Star Wars
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-08
Updated: 2010-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithwitch13/pseuds/sithwitch13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wedge objects very strongly to Tycho's treatment following his recovery from Imperial custody.  Tycho is none to happy with circumstances, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Time

**Author's Note:**

> For [joysweeper](http://joysweeper.livejournal.com/) , written for the 2010 [wraithsquadron](http://wraithsquadron.livejournal.com/) ficathon. Prompt involved Wedge with guest appearances and the phrases "Long Friendship," "Trust," "Knowing Someone Very Well," and "Casual Physical Contact." Also, thanks to my beta, [Lurkz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurkz/pseuds/Lurkz).

Tycho would never be sure exactly how long everything had taken.  The official records said three months in the _Lusankya_ , three more months on Akrit'tar, and so far one more month in a New Republic prison hospital.  Some days, it felt longer, more like decades.  The time spent in the prison hospital always did.  


  


Mostly the parts where the Imps had him felt shorter.  It was the memory loss, the doctors had assured him.  And there was plenty of that.  "I can only remember maybe a week of the _Lusankya_ ," he told Wedge, a month into "protective custody."  Wedge had to sit on the opposite side of a metal table from him, for security reasons.  A blank-faced Mon Calamari guard stood by the door.  Tycho had tried lowering his voice to speak at first, but gave it up quickly.  Everything was being recorded, anyway.

Wedge frowned, not interrupting, just listening.  Tycho was thankful for that.  Wedge was the first to visit--the second thing he did after giving Tycho an only slightly choked greeting was to explain that Winter was deep undercover and would be informed of Tycho's escape and recovery the second time allowed.  But that was okay.  Wedge was a good listener, as well as the first truly friendly face Tycho had seen in a long, long time.  At least, from what he could remember.

Tycho licked his dry lips, looked down at his shackled wrists.  He wondered if the guard at the door was overkill, since he couldn't move his hands more than a handful of centimeters from the table--no question of sleeper agent programming activating and him strangling one of the New Republic's most celebrated heroes, not like this.  And besides, even after three months at a relatively light prison and a month of physical therapy, he doubted he could strangle so much as a Ghostling.  He cleared his throat and continued.  "I can't remember much, and it might sound counterintuitive right now, but I think that's a good thing."

There was a twitch of movement from across the table: Wedge tightening his fists and pulling them under the table's surface, where Tycho couldn't see.  Tycho waited.  Finally, Wedge spoke up.  "Good, then."

"The staff psychologist has been trying to make me remember.  I know why, but--Wedge, _I don't want to remember_.  And not for the reasons the higher-ups think."

Other people might have given him the same platitudes, reasoning, and arguments that various New Republic representatives had.  They needed details about the location, security, and personel of the _Lusankya_.  It would be good for his own piece of mind.

It could be evidence that he had not been brainwashed into acting as a sleeper agent.

"I know.  Look, we've known each other for how long now?"

Tycho smiled wanly.  "Almost six years."

"Yeah.  And in that time, you've been a superb comrade and an invaluable friend.  I trust your judgement, and most of all, I trust _you_.  If you don't think you can handle remembering something that is by any reckoning majorly traumatic, then I agree with you."

"It's making things tougher.  I have no idea if I'll ever get out of here, at this rate."

"We'll just see about that."

The guard cleared his throat, a somewhat gargling sound in a Mon Cal.  "Commander--"

"Yeah, yeah.  I get it, no talking about--"

"It's not that.  It's time for you to leave.  Visiting hours are over."

  
  
Wedge stared at the guard with a hard look.  "I haven't been in here very long.  It's been, what, fifteen minutes?"

"Not my call, sir."

Wedge bristled, was about to say something.  Tycho cut him off.  "Look, I'm kind of tired anyway.  It's been a long day."

"Tycho--"

"Seriously.  And tomorrow will be another long day.  It's been great seeing you.  And talking with you."

"I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?  The rest of the Rogues--well, we may not officially be Rogues any more, but we'll always be Rogues, right?  They're all waiting to come visit, too."

"Commander Antilles--"

"I'm going," he snapped, standing up.  He nodded one last time to Tycho.  "Good to see you again."

"You too," Tycho said, attempting a grin.  It didn't feel quite right, and he dropped it quickly.

  


   


* * *

"--and they've got him handcuffed to a table, for kriff's sake, and if you could see him it'd be pretty karking obvious that he isn't ready to run down a hallway yet, much less do whatever deadly martial art they think Iceheart trains her puppets to do--"

Wedge's tirade was interrupted when Janson forcefully shoved a tray of hospital food into his arm.  "Boss."

"Ow."

"This entire situation is massively unfair, we get it."

"But you haven't seen--"

"We don't have to," said Hobbie, poking at something that looked distinctly unappetizing.  Hospital food tended to be the same whether it was served dirt-side or in a Mon Cal ship, it seemed.  "Former Imp recruit, remember?  I know how they work."

"You mutinied weeks into your first mission."

"Which was still plenty of time to see how they did things.  Iceheart may not be as flat-out bloodthirsty as some, but she's got the whole 'twist public opinion to suit your needs' thing down pat."

"That's not really the point.  The point is, _we're_ the ones treating him like an armed bomb."

"Wedge," Janson said, his normally mirthful face deadly serious.  "Can you blame them?  The last time we heard the name _Lusankya_ was in connection with one of our guys snapping and killing one of our generals."

Wedge ground his teeth.  "But this is Tycho.  You know him."

"I've known him longer than you have," Hobbie agreed, mushing some sort of wilted vegetables together.  "He's a great guy.  There's nobody else I'd want at my back.  But if he was on the _Lusankya_ , he might not be that guy any more."

For a second, all Wedge could think about was punching Hobbie--his squadmate, his friend--in the nose.  Better yet, in the jaw--less blood, more potential for damage.  He came back to himself as quickly as the thought had come, unclenching his fists.  "Look.  I get it, I really do.  I'm not an idiot.  But this is _Tycho_ we're talking about.  Saw the death of Alderaan on his birthday Tycho.  Risked his life for us more times than I can count Tycho.  Puts the lie to Alderaanian pacifism half the time Tycho.  Do you really think he'd let himself be brainwashed?  The Tycho I know would kill himself before letting that happen."

"Right, _we_ know that.  But they--the higher ups who don't deal with him on a regular basis--don't."  Janson sat back, crossing his arms.  "They'd rather play it safe."

"They're treating one of us like a traitor."

"Until they have evidence otherwise."

Wedge stood up.  "I'm not hungry any more."

* * *

  
"So if all goes according to plan, Winter should be sitting here instead of me next week."

"That's great."  Not that Tycho's voice conveyed it, not after hours with the psychologist.  His head hurt.  Still, company was company, and he could use a friendly face.  He tried to smile, but didn't pull it off.  Hours of therapy, mental and physical--though there was less of the latter, these days, and more of the former--combined with the daily attempts at debriefing, were wearing in him.

Wedge furrowed his brows in concern.  "Are you okay?  Really?"

"Look at me."  Tycho resisted the urge to slump in his seat and rest his forehead on the table.  "What do you think?"

Wedge was silent for a while, considering.  "I think maybe I need to push this harder."

"Huh?"

"Nothing.  Nrin said he was going to try and drop by earlier this week--did he make it?"

"Yeah," Tycho said doubtfully.  "He did.  What are you up to, Wedge?"

Wedge smiled tightly.  "Nothing you need to worry about."

* * *

"Good to see you, Wedge."

"You too, Luke."  Wedge dithered, taking in the sparse details of Luke's quarters.  No longer a Commander, he wasn't strictly entitled to room and board on the Mon Cal cruiser, but a certain amount of uncertainty regarding the position of the Rebellion's lone Jedi and a good word from Princess Leia had stretched the rules.

And, Wedge considered, it couldn't hurt to get his old friend's help in stretching them a little further.

"So," Luke said, waving at the general direction of the room's few chairs, "what's up?  Not that I'm not glad to see you."

"Yeah, it's been a while.  How's the Jedi thing going?"

Luke made a face.  "Between the two of us?  Frustrating.  Think navigating a jump with no astromech and a minimal knowledge of astrogation."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah.  But you're not here to talk Jedi stuff, are you."

Wedge sighed.  "Not even in the slightest.  You've heard about Tycho, right?"

Luke frowned.  "I heard he's back.  Something about escaping from prison."

"How long have you been here, exactly?"

"Two days, rounding up."  Luke shrugged.  "So what's the deal?"

"He didn't land himself in just any prison.  After the Imps got him, he ended up on the _Lusankya_."

Luke sucked in a noisy breath.  "Ooh."

"Yeah."

"How is he?"

"He could be better.  A _lot_ better.  Actually, from my perspective, we're treating him like he's still in prison."

Luke leaned forward, steepling his fingers as he thought.  "How long has he been back?"

"About a month and a half now.  A little less, but... look, I've been by to talk with him every chance I get.  He doesn't remember much, but I don't think anyone who lived through three months in Iceheart's personal prison would want to.  And from what I've been allowed to read in his files, the stuff he can remember is bad.  Really bad.  Not bad as in 'wow, this makes me look like a traitor, that's so bad for me.'  More like 'no sentient being should ever have to go through this' bad."  Wedge leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling.  "He's changed, that's for sure.  But he's still Tycho.  I don't have many long-term friends these days.  Mirax and her dad.  You.  Hobbie.  Janson.  And Tycho.  Right around Endor, there you guys were.  It seems like everyone else died somewhere along the way.  So yeah, I want to protect the ones I have left, but I also think I know them pretty well.  And I _know_ Tycho.  That guy sitting in the hospital, being drilled day after day on things he doesn't want to remember so that others can prove his loyalty, that's Tycho.  He's not a bomb about to go off."

"So," Luke said after a long pause, "what do you want me to do about it?"

"I can't get hold of Leia.  I've tried.  But you're here now, and I was thinking--hoping--that maybe you could go talk to him.  See what you think.  Maybe vouch for him, if you agree with me.  You're a Jedi who blew up the first Death Star single-handed."  One corner of Wedge's mouth twitched.  "They might listen to you."

"It wasn't single-handed," Luke said quietly.

"Yeah, I know.  Believe me, I know.  Besides, he'd like the company.  It's not like they let him out much.  Or at all, really."

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Another couple of weeks.  Tycho wondered if he was beginning to crack yet.  He wasn't contemplating making things up and telling them what they wanted to hear, not yet.  At least, not seriously.  It would be embarrassing to withstand six months in Imperial prisons and crack while back in custody of _his_ side.

Visitors came and went, making things bearable.  Winter, and that had been wonderful to see her again.  One of the things he remembered for certain there in the _Lusankya_ was staring at a spot on a wall, realizing that he would probably never see her again.  Or any of his friends, but Winter would always hold a special place in his heart, as both a fellow Alderaanian and... well, the word "girlfriend" felt odd for someone of his age and world-weariness.

Other Rogues came and went.  Hobbie and Janson were frequent visitors, as was Wedge.  Luke even stopped by, and that visit had actually gone over the clock with nobody quite daring to tell him that time was up.  Nrin made the occasional visit, once bearing a short recorded message from Plourr wishing him well.  There were others, friends from different squadrons who drifted through with vague greetings and not much to say beyond that.

And then the routine changed.  Instead of his daily chat with the team of psychiatrists, he was hustled into uniform.  Instead of daily exercise--physical therapy was no longer needed, and he had put on nearly all of the weight he had lost and managed to keep it stable--he was brought before a review board.

The decision was, after nearly two months of continuous debriefing and the testimony of several of his fellow officers, he would be released back into service--with provisions.  Lots of provisions.  The gist of it seemed to be that the best he could hope for was severely curtailed personal freedoms in exchange for limited service provided.

He nodded when they asked him if he would accept those terms.  For one thing, it was better to be back among people and supervised than kept isolated and supervised.  And for another, it was a chance.  A very small one, but present nonetheless.

Wedge stopped by his new assigned quarters later that afternoon.  There was a guard posted outside, but that was okay.  Wedge grinned and clapped Tycho's shoulder in a one-armed hug.  "Congratulations on getting out of there."

"Thanks.  Nice to breathe the air of the semi-free."

Wedge's smile faltered, just a little.  "I'll see what I can do about _that_ , too."

"What, did you bug the higher-ups until they had no choice but to give in or live in terminal annoyance?"

Wedge snorted.  "Something like that.  It also helps to have a Jedi on your side."

"Good old Luke."

"Good old Luke," Wedge echoed.  "So, what's your plan?"

Tycho shrugged.  "Keep going.  Adjust.  I'm not out of the asteroid field yet, not by a long shot, but it's better than nothing."

"So I've got a job offer for you, and I think you'll like it.  How would you like to instruct the newest batch of Rogues?  Aril's my current XO, but I talked this over with her and she'd be more than happy to step aside if you want it."

Tycho raised an eyebrow.  "They'd never let me do it."

"Oh, they will.  Like you said, I'll bug General Salm until he agrees.  If it worked on the review board, it'll work on him.  I'm sure.  One thing--it means more negotiations on what you will and won't be allowed to do.  Combat flying's out, but supervised instruction will likely be fine.  And there's probably a laundry list of other stuff you'll have to agree to.  Periodic checks, that sort of thing.  Would you be okay with that?"

Tycho grinned, really grinned.  "Wedge?  At this point I'd be fine with giving Admiral Ackbar himself a minute-by-minute play of what I'm doing, so long as I can get out and stretch my legs.  Let me at the new Rogues--maybe they can get the vengeance I might never get the chance to take for myself."


End file.
